


Come Marching Home

by through-the-stars-to-the-pavement (delicate_mageflower)



Series: Sun, Stars, Earth [4]
Category: Avatar: The Last Airbender
Genre: (how the FUCK was that not already a tag?????), Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Everyone Needs A Hug, F/M, Flashbacks, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Multi, Night Terrors, Nightmares, Ozai is The Worst™, Past Child Abuse, Post-Hundred Year War - Freeform, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Self-Loathing, Sokka has a heart as strong as a lion-turtle and twice as big, Suicidal Thoughts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-02
Updated: 2020-08-02
Packaged: 2021-03-05 20:15:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,132
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25671160
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/delicate_mageflower/pseuds/through-the-stars-to-the-pavement
Summary: The past cannot be protected from.Which is why it could be ten thousand degrees and the heat of his body could be eating them all alive, but Zuko always sleeps in the middle.
Relationships: Sokka/Suki (Avatar), Sokka/Suki/Zuko (Avatar), Sokka/Zuko (Avatar), Suki/Zuko (Avatar)
Series: Sun, Stars, Earth [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1967482
Comments: 52
Kudos: 662
Collections: AtLA <10k fics to read





	Come Marching Home

**Author's Note:**

> Note this makes some reference to the comics, but I haven't actually ever read any of them and kind of pick and choose what I hold in my heart's canon anyway.
> 
> And on top of both of their PTSD, I vehemently headcanon Zuko as autistic and Sokka as ADHD and neither is really involved here but it still felt worth noting.
> 
> I have also never written for a fandom this big and I am absolutely terrified to post this. So, yeah. Hi. Eep.

Zuko’s nightmares, much like the scars on his face and his chest, will never fade.

It’s been well over a decade since Ozai marked him, but he relives that day nearly every night. He has since it happened.

The lightning marks Azula left him with don’t haunt him quite the same; he earned those atoning for his past mistakes and saving the life of a dear friend. It was a tragedy in its own right, that moment, but this tragedy wasn’t his but his sister’s. She hadn’t suffered the same as he had, and she had done more than her share to add to his trauma, but they are both products of their upbringing and they were both only children. It should never have had to end that way between them. Alas, it did.

What Ozai did to him when he was so young, on the other hand, there is no explanation for, there is no excusing. And yet for so long, he did excuse it. He did believe it was right. The cruelty, the terror, the years of abuse and neglect all leading up to that pivotal, life-altering moment…

“Zuko,” a small voice whispers beside him. From the other side, a hand sleepily searches for one of his to hold.

They’re responding to his shouting. It takes a second, but he works it out.

Zuko always lies in the middle. At first it was because he’s a human furnace and it had been cold out when this started, and he had expected this arrangement to change come summer but it never did. It took him far too long to figure out it’s because he is the one who his partners have determined requires the most affection.

And they’re not wrong.

Sokka has a wonderful sister and a real dad. Suki has the Kyoshi Warriors, and they’re family for her.

Zuko has his uncle, of course, and the friends he made joining the Avatar are as true and real a family as any, but by then the damage was done. The past cannot be protected from, although fuck knows Iroh tried his hardest.

But the nightmares never fade, and Zuko slowly realizes the hand Sokka isn’t holding is over his left eye and ear as though they are currently in pain.

Tears are streaming down his face and he isn’t breathing. He notices himself shaking. Suki rests her hand atop the one he yet holds over his old wound, and Sokka kisses the hand in his grasp.

“You’re okay, babe,” Sokka assures him. “Zuko, it’s okay. We’ve got you.”

“We’ve got you,” Suki echoes.

They both sound so soft, so sweet. After half a decade, Zuko still doesn’t understand how he ended up here, how he could deserve this.

“Zuko, hey…listen to me, okay?” Sokka then exhales slowly, loudly, guiding Zuko to release the breath he’s been holding.

He breathes out and _oh,_ he hadn’t realized how much tension he was storing in his back and shoulders, relieved letting some—albeit far from all—of it go.

He’s shaking so hard, his heart racing and his chest aching. He’s breathing now but it’s either too fast or too slow, panic rising.

“Fuck,” he whimpers. “Fuck, I’m…I’m sorry…”

Suki peels his hand from his face and squeezes it tight. “You have nothing to apologize for. We’re here for you. We, Sokka and me, here, now. Now and always. Ozai can’t hurt you anymore. I wish I could take away the pain you’re feeling, and I know I can’t, but he can’t hurt you now. Sokka and I will never let _anyone_ hurt you again.”

They’re supposed to be on vacation. They’re on Ember Island, in the small home they built together in the remotest part they could find. It’s tiny and secluded and—importantly—Sokka built a small pond in their modest backyard for turtleducks. Zuko and Sokka have been working so hard with everything surrounding the United Republic of Nations, and Zuko’s post-traumatic stress and depression usually get worse the longer he stays in the palace. Which means he works himself half to death as long as he is in the capital, favoring prolonged exhaustion over an inevitable spiral, and regularly staying up all night to avoid dreaming for as long as he can manage. So they decided—or more like Suki had to spend about a few hours convincing Sokka and then several days talking Zuko into allowing himself—to take a much needed break.

And both his partners know Zuko must be kicking himself now for “ruining” their time away by waking them up having night terrors anyway.

Neither Sokka nor Suki will ever forget the time Toph asked him about his scar. Their group had taken a trip together to visit Iroh, and were sharing a meal over a campfire an hour or so outside Ba Sing Se. Zuko had absentmindedly mentioned the psychosomatic pain it often caused him, and Toph had to question after learning of its size and severity. She had noticed years before, when no one else did, that he had vision and hearing loss on his left side, but had always figured he was born that way, as she herself had been blind at birth.

None of the group, for that matter, beyond that one time with Katara in the Crystal Catacombs neither of them like to remember when it was Zuko who’d brought it up, had ever given it much thought. That scar was simply one of Zuko’s features, the same as his golden amber eyes and black hair, and it would be difficult if not impossible to try to picture him without it. He had been incredibly taken aback when Toph asked; after all, if none had inquired by then, it seemed a safe assumption they were never going to.

The look in his eye as he began to explain was familiar to those who knew him best. Painful memories could be quick to overwhelm him, the horrors he had lived through could so easily take him over.

Sokka and Suki wasted no time claiming one of his hands each, grounding him as he fought through the impending flashback to tell the exact story which was pulling him under.

They will never forget Katara and Aang joining them in exchanging horrified glances, and Toph hanging her head.

It was terrifying seeing Katara so angry. Sokka had half expected her to hop on Appa and rush straight to the Fire Nation, had half expected her to storm Ozai’s cell to do what Aang couldn’t.

Toph, even, turned towards Aang and shouted, “And _you_ let that fucker _live,_ twinkle toes?”

“Now Kyoshi’s going to scold me again for that later on, I bet,” Aang said, attempting to provide levity.

“But…” Toph spoke up more quietly, full of equal parts heavy guilt and rage, but offering uncharacteristically gentle sympathy. She could feel him slipping, and she was lost about how to handle it, so she wanted to be as delicate as she could. “But Zuko, your uncle…”

“There was nothing he could do,” Zuko shrugged. “You don’t go up against the Fire Lord, not even his own ‘family.’ _I’m_ what happens if you do.”

Katara was seething, clenching fists at her sides and doing all she could not to run away for precisely what Sokka was imagining.

“Zuko, if we’d known…” she started, but he shook his head to cut her off.

“Well, you didn’t,” he snapped. “You couldn’t have. And you shouldn’t have. You had no reason to trust me. You had every reason to hate me. I needed to prove myself, not your pity.”

Toph was growing increasingly uncomfortable with the vibrations coming off of him, and she deeply regretted bringing it up. “Zuko… I am so sorry for…”

“All I’d ever wanted was for my father to love me,” he blurted out, unthinking. “He told me suffering would teach me respect. I’d hoped for so long maybe that meant I’d eventually be able to earn…”

“You were a child, Zuko,” Aang told him. “No child should ever have to ‘earn’ love. You never deserved that. No one does.”

Katara looked over at Sokka and Suki, trying to understand how they’d kept this secret. Toph turned and shook her head at her, indicating she could read the obvious question which everyone could see, and that she had the answer. They hadn’t known, either. Of course they hadn’t. Ozai would likely have already been murdered in his sleep by then if Suki had found out without anyone else but Sokka being able to pin a motive on her.

They had both imagined Ozai’s shitty parenting must have had something to do with Zuko’s constant waking up crying or screaming, but they’d never gotten him to fully explain it and had always been too nervous to push.

But then it all made sense.

And the whole gang had to watch Zuko descend into panic and self-loathing, had to helplessly watch him fall down the PTSD lop-eared rabbit hole.

Sokka and Suki had gripped his hands so hard as he lost the ability to speak or respond at all to his surroundings, and at some point Aang and Appa disappeared. When they returned, Iroh was with them, and both Sokka and Suki paid very close attention as he managed to calm Zuko by singing to him.

“Thank you for being there for my nephew,” Iroh addressed the entire group, but his eyes kept moving back to two members in particular. “He has been through so much and I do all I can, but it has been good for him to make friends. I am grateful to you all for taking care of him when I cannot. But please, visit more often. An old man misses his kids after so long, you know.”

This was also the first time they all realized they had been Zuko’s first friends, and the collective heartbreak further resonating between them was almost tangible.

And after spending a solid few days at the Jasmine Dragon, Iroh hugged everyone goodbye when it was time to depart. Everyone, but he spent noticeably more time with Sokka and Suki.

The next time Sokka wrote to his father, the pages were tear stained and filled with ramblings about how he wanted to show more appreciation for what he had, how fortunate he’d only just realized he was, and how much he missed his dad with promises to write and visit more.

Here and now, while Sokka and Suki both desperately try to remind Zuko he is safe and so, _so_ loved, Sokka fixates on one aspect of that memory beyond all else.

“Leaves from the vine…”

Sokka can’t sing, but that doesn’t matter. Zuko immediately releases more of that tension, immediately loosens his body a bit more.

“Falling so slow…”

Sokka’s voice cracks watching Zuko relax. He shifts himself to maneuver Zuko so he lays his head against Sokka’s chest, and Sokka runs his fingers through Zuko’s hair. Suki rubs his back, her calloused hands brushing tenderly.

“Like fragile, tiny shells drifting in the foam…”

A strained, guttural sound catches in Zuko’s throat, and his whole body heaves as it escapes. He begins to sob, trembling between his partners, overcome as much by their love as he is by his own sorrow.

“Little soldier boy, come marching home, brave soldier boy…”

Sokka can’t finish. He has no right to break, this pain is not his to crumble beneath. But it crushes him anyway, and now he’s crying too, and once he starts he can’t stop.

It kills him to see Zuko like this, no matter how many times it’s happened. But something about this, about figuring out how to soothe him, makes his heart swell as it shatters. These feelings wildly contradict each other and battle for dominance, and all he can do is fall apart with it.

Zuko learned long ago, too, that he is not the only one who suffers these long nights. Katara is burdened by the knowledge her mother died to protect her. Aang is haunted by the mass slaughter of his people. Sokka often wakes up shivering at how differently the attack on the Fire Nation airship fleet could have gone, after dreams of dropping Toph when he was so sure they’d reached the end of the line, or of Suki not being saved by another ship flying underneath them when their initial captive went crashing. He struggles, too, with hypervigilance, with never feeling truly safe, with always fearing he’ll fail his loved ones now the way he failed Yue, regardless of how often anyone tries to tell him her fate was not his fault.

No one left the Hundred Year War without their own unique scars, physical or emotional.

Still, Zuko’s tend to be the most pronounced in both regards.

He’s thought many times about returning to the Mother of Faces, about seeking to have his childhood memories removed and his face changed.

 _This,_ however, he cannot lose. The trade could never be worth it.

“Sometimes I wish he’d killed me,” Zuko told Sokka and Suki once, a few weeks after the revelation about Ozai’s challenge, when it was just the three of them and he’d had a few sorghum liquor concoctions too many.

 _“What?”_ they had replied in unison, assuming he must have been referring to the aforementioned events leading to his banishment.

“Oh shit, didn’t I ever tell you?” Zuko was boisterously laughing, an all too rare occurrence anyway, and even in the trio’s shared drunken state it was deeply unnerving. “My mom was banished for not letting my father murder me. To be fair, it was actually Fire Lord Azulon’s idea, not Ozai’s, but he had every intention of going through with it until my mom stopped him. I’ve thought about that a lot, you know. Like, why? I know my mom loved me and she always believed in me when my uncle wasn’t around and no one else did, but didn’t she consider what was best for _me?_ It’s not like she was allowed to stick around to enjoy me living to see another day. Sometimes I think we’d all be better off if…”

He never stopped laughing until Sokka cut him off by running out of the room. It wasn’t the most appropriate response, he knew, but he couldn’t take listening to Zuko muse about his own prospected murder as though it was a good thing and damn near cackling over it, and he figured bolting to do it privately was better than crying in front of him at that exact moment. He’d stopped subscribing to his former ideals of toxic masculinity a long time ago, but he was certain it would upset Zuko if he had reacted this way to his face, so it was simply better to let it out alone.

“Ah fuck, I shouldn’t have said that, huh,” Zuko said to Suki after, staring blankly. “I made Sokka mad, didn’t I?”

“I don’t think he’s mad,” Suki replied as she reached for Zuko’s hand. “No, love, I don’t think that’s it at all. We’re just…we’re glad he didn’t do it. We’re grateful to have you here with us.”

Zuko scoffed and shrugged, so she tried to explain that without him, Ozai would probably have won the war, and Azula would have been left as sole heir to the throne. Zuko only shrugged again.

“I’m sure Uncle would have helped. He could have figured out succession, too. Actually, he might even have been the Fire Lord instead of my father, so it would all have worked out.”

“Zuko, _please.”_ Suki was holding back tears at that point, too. “Please don’t speak that way. Nothing would be the same without you.”

Zuko stopped fighting, but she knew he didn’t believe her and she doubted there was anything she could say to make him. He stopped himself, however, from bringing up how Ozai had punished him after he had to rescue him nearly drowning to save a turtlecrab as a child. He stopped himself, too, from mentioning that Ozai had also wanted to kill him of his own volition as a baby because he didn’t believe he possessed any firebending talent. He was intoxicated enough to keep rambling on subjects he virtually never touched sober, but he made sure to shut himself down rather than hurt his partners any more than he had.

Because it’s his fault. It’s always his fault.

But they love him. It doesn’t make any sense in his head but he knows it’s true, that they love him, and he wouldn’t give that up for anything.

“I’m going to make us all some tea, okay?” Suki speaks up as her boyfriends cry together. They are so physically close, wrapped in each other’s arms, and it’s all she can think to do. It’s what Iroh would do.

The past cannot be protected from, but Sokka has yet to accept this. He sometimes seems to believe that if he just tries a little bit harder, he could will himself back in time to undo every bad thing that’s ever happened to the people he cares about.

Sokka tries to kiss Zuko, just longing to be closer to him, but Zuko recoils. Apologies instantly begin to spill from his lips, but Sokka knows by now it isn’t personal. It’s only that occasionally Zuko has moments when he can’t bear to have anyone express any direct physical contact with his face, and this such moment takes them both by surprise. And that’s fine.

“Don’t worry,” Sokka mutters. “Fuck, _I’m_ sorry. I’m sorry I triggered you, I should have known better right now…”

“Stop that, _both of you,”_ Suki calls from the kitchen. She’s watching the kettle carefully so she can catch it when the water temperature is just right but before it whistles. Any sudden, alarming sounds are probably best contained. And of course she could pour them tea at any temperature and have Zuko handle it, but not right now. He shouldn’t have to do any work for it. Not when it’s emergency tea.

“Hey, hey, okay,” Zuko whispers and tentatively lifts Sokka’s hand to his right cheek. “Okay, this is…this is okay.”

“Okay, yeah,” Sokka answers. “Yeah, you’re okay. You’re safe here. I’ve got you. We’ve got you. But… Zuko, you’re allowed to break. We won’t let you go through it alone. It’s okay.”

It doesn’t matter how many times he or Suki says it. It always bears repeating. And they’ll repeat it a billion times more.

Neither of them have stopped crying. But like Sokka said, it’s okay.

“Hey, Sokka?” Zuko sounds nervous to speak, but he does.

“Yeah, love?”

“Can you, umm…can you sing it again?”

And he does. His voice gives out every few words, but he does. And by the time he reaches the end of the short verse, Zuko has calmed enough to make up for the kiss he had previously rejected. Both their lips are dry and taste like salt, but neither minds. What’s important is the connection, the affection.

Which is why it could be ten thousand degrees and the heat of his body could be eating them all alive, but Zuko always sleeps in the middle.

Suki returns with tea, having successfully made it without startling anyone. It’s ginseng, Iroh’s favorite. This is deliberate, and is an act of love all on its own.

Zuko carefully wipes his eyes after untangling himself from his boyfriend and sitting himself up to greet his girlfriend, his weeping slowly but surely coming to an end for now, but Sokka doesn’t bother yet. He’s not sure he’s done. In fact, he’s pretty sure he isn’t.

Suki stares lovingly at them both, sitting down and crossing her legs at the very edge of the bed, giving herself enough space for the best vantage point.

“I think we need to take another trip to Ba Sing Se to see Iroh soon,” she suggests. “Maybe see if Aang and Katara and Toph are free to come along. And _then,_ we should make the time to go to the South Pole and visit Hakoda.”

For once, Zuko doesn’t argue. “Yeah, that sounds… I think that’s a great idea.”

“You’re working too hard, babe,” Suki smiles.

“Maybe, yeah.”

Zuko never drops endearments or pet names. Sokka and Suki are extremely liberal with “love” and “babe” and “dear” and “sweetheart” and any little word they can find to punctuate their intentions, but it doesn’t come naturally to Zuko at all and he can’t figure out how to force it. But he doesn’t have to. They know it doesn’t mean he loves them any less.

“Even the Fire Lord deserves some time off now and again,” she adds.

The Fire Lord, the Southern Water Tribe ambassador, and the leader of the Kyoshi Warriors and subsequent head of the Fire Lord’s guard certainly do all lead busy lives. But their work, thankfully, usually necessitates their close proximity, so it is never without its perks.

War and hardship and destruction brought them together, and now peace and love and reconstruction keep them there.

Just like the little soldier boy from Iroh’s song, they’d come marching home.

And Suki is constantly in awe of her soldier boys’ bravery. Even when they let themselves be fragile and tiny like they are now, they’ve both been through so much and she tries to tell them all the time how they are so much stronger than they know. Neither ever believes her and Sokka typically takes the chance to pass his share of the praise to Zuko, not seeing himself as deserving of it as Zuko is. Suki will then more often than not cut off the conversation by calling them both stubborn idiots with all the love in her heart, and threatening to send a messenger hawk to Katara inviting her to come yell at them, too.

“Hey, Zuko,” Sokka gets his attention. “Do you want to go feed the turtleducks?”

“In the morning. Thank you. Right now… I think maybe I…um, _we_ should try to get back to sleep. It must be late.”

No one checks. They’re on vacation.

And they’ll pick up their empty teacups in the morning. For now, the floor will suffice.

Sokka lies on his back and pulls Zuko close, and his head resumes its place on Sokka’s chest as he sprawls out over him. Suki walks to one side of the room to kiss Sokka, then to the other to crawl into bed next to Zuko. She holds his waist from behind with one arm and stretches the other to grip onto one of Sokka’s hands. Sokka strokes Zuko’s hair and Suki nuzzles her nose along Zuko’s neck.

The trio trade “I love you” back and forth a few times over, and eventually Zuko and then Suki find their way back to sleep.

Sokka, meanwhile, does not. He can’t.

The past cannot be protected from, although fuck knows Iroh tried his hardest and Sokka doesn’t understand how he is ever supposed to accept this. Especially when Zuko’s past is always so eager to hurt him in his present.

So he spends the rest of the night watching over him, so sad and angry he can’t erase what’s been done, so bitter imagining a scared child vying only to feel loved and wanted but instead being met with cruel words and crueler hands. Or even beyond that, having to imagine so much as all the nights Zuko must have had like this with no one there to comfort him.

But he isn’t alone now, and whenever Zuko begins to stir or make any sound, Sokka starts to sing again. As softly as he can so as not to disturb Suki, but it’s enough because Zuko stills every time.

And it helps Sokka, too, thinking on how no matter where they are, as long as he is with them, he is home. And that no matter what happens from here, Zuko will never have to want for love again. Sokka hates that he cannot do more, but he can guarantee that much.

Sokka has always struggled not feeling special, not feeling worthy, but each time Zuko is calmed by his voice, he knows he is more than good enough. As long as he can help keep Zuko sleeping soundly after how bad it got this night, who needs bending.

 _“Brave_ soldier boy…” he is whispering as the sun is beginning to rise, his voice hoarse and his eyelids heavy, but his heart is full as his bed is large in this tiny house they’ve put together just for them, and it is all so worth it. “Brave soldier boy comes marching _home.”_


End file.
